


Between the Lines of Fear and Blame

by Thats_Amore



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 1890s, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Developing Friendships, Gen, Guilt, Historical Hetalia, Hopeful Ending, Lynching, POV America (Hetalia), Period-Typical Racism, Slurs, references to violence and murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:35:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25692148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thats_Amore/pseuds/Thats_Amore
Summary: In 1891, eleven Italian-Americans were lynched in New Orleans. Alfred and Lovino struggled to find their footing in the aftermath.
Relationships: America & North Italy (Hetalia), America & South Italy (Hetalia), North Italy & South Italy (Hetalia)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	Between the Lines of Fear and Blame

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning for a serious fic about a historical lynching. All of the facts are drawn from Internet sources I'm including in the endnotes. The slur is a one time usage from a human OC, and the period-typical racism doesn't come from any of the canon characters.
> 
> In this fic, Romano is living with America during the Second Industrial Revolution (as indicated by Chapter 58 of Hetalia World Stars) rather than the 1920s (as indicated by the fact Lithuania appeared in the background of the America + Romano strips). Also, this fic doesn't have any intentional romance between America and Romano, since I felt that would detract from the point of the story.
> 
> Title is taken from the song "How to Save a Life" by The Fray.

_March 16, 1891_

Romano was reading the newspaper as he ate breakfast, and America watched him with concern. After yesterday, they’d both been preoccupied by the news, and America knew Lovino must have been upset about what happened in New Orleans a couple days ago. Alfred was upset too, and he was already planning a return trip to New Orleans to go speak to the governor. America’s earlier attempt to speak to the mayor after he started arresting hundreds of local Italians had ended with Alfred being dragged out of the office by five members of the mayor’s security team, so he didn’t think talking to Mayor Shakspeare again would help anything.

Romano was calm as he read the newspaper and sipped at his cappuccino, at least until he got far enough inside to read the editorial section. For several seconds, the paper trembled from the force of Romano’s rage until he finally flung it across the table in disgust.

“Those fucking stronzos! This isn’t news, this is just prejudiced garbage!” His face was red, and there were tears shining in his eyes that he was clearly trying not to shed.

America sighed. “Lovino…”

“I am so god damn sick of my people being talked about like this! From my brother’s people, from your people, from everyone! Like they’re not even human or worthy of life! All those poor people wanted to do was live, and instead they got shot, clubbed to death, and hung from fucking trees.”

“I know,” Alfred said sadly. That happened to a lot of his people, especially his Black people, and now it had happened to recent immigrants from South Italy. He walked over to hug Romano. “I’m so sorry this happened.”

Lovino didn’t return the hug, but he didn’t push Alfred away either. “It’s not your fault, bastard,” he said quietly. “You weren’t even in New Orleans at the time.”

America was nauseous from guilt, and what happened to those people felt like his fault even if Romano had said it wasn’t. Maybe he should have been in New Orleans. Maybe he would have been able to stop the lynch mob from invading the parish prison by appealing to their sense of justice and decency. Maybe, but Alfred doubted it. America loved his people, but he had never been able to stop them from being terrible to each other, not from the very beginning.

America pulled away and gave Romano a wobbly, very false smile. “Do you want me to go call up _The New-York Times_ to yell at somebody?”

Romano snorted and wiped at his red eyes with the side of his hand. “I doubt that will change anything. But it might make me feel a little better.”

America felt determination swell inside him. “Then that’s what I’m going to do. You finish your breakfast, and I’ll take care of this for you, just like a hero should.”

Lovino rolled his eyes and managed a tiny smile. “Whatever you say, idiota.”

Romano went back to his breakfast, and America quickly read the editorial about “The New Orleans Affair.” His jaw tightened as he read the vile description of Sicilian immigrants. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he muttered.

“That was pretty much my reaction,” Romano said dryly. “Only with less taking the Lord’s name in vain since I didn’t feel like adding to the things I’ll probably have to confess to a priest later this week.”

America took a couple large bites to finish off his cornetto and drank the rest of his cappuccino like it was water. With the newspaper in hand, he swept out into the living room where his telephone was located. He called the main office of _The New-York Times_ and tapped his foot as he waited impatiently to be connected with someone from the editorial department.

“Hello, Mr. Jones. How may I help you today?”

“How may you help me?! You may help me by printing a retraction to this bullshit you wrote about Sicilian people today,” Alfred snapped. “Is this what the paper of record considers journalism? Because I’d call it an irresponsible incitement to violence.”

“It’s an editorial, Mr. Jones. Now if you’d listen—”

“No, you listen! You justified cold-blooded, lawless murder with the appalling words you printed today. You compared decent, hardworking human beings to rattlesnakes, including a 14-year-old boy who saw his own father getting killed!”

“Sir, calm down,” the man on the other end of the line said. He sounded like he was rapidly losing his patience with Alfred.

“How the hell am I supposed to calm down?! You called a lynch mob respectable! You blamed the victims for what happened to them despite the lack of evidence that the mafia was involved, much less any Italians! The officer who allegedly spoke to Hennessy after he was shot never even testified under oath!”

The man on the other end of the line let out a harsh sigh. “Mr. Jones, if that _is_ your name, I’m a very busy man. I don’t have time to speak to every hot-headed dago who gets offended by an editorial. Unless you have something important to say, I have to end this conversation.”

“You… you testa di minchia! Vaffanculo a chi t’è morto!” America crushed the telephone’s transmitter in his hand and yanked the receiver so hard that the entire apparatus detached from the wall, along with a good chunk of the wall itself. Alfred was so enraged that he didn’t even notice he was destroying the phone with his super strength. Only afterwards, while he was panting and staring at the remains of his phone, did he realize that he hadn’t told the man to fuck off in English.

“Che cazzo! You just broke the phone! Do you know how expensive that shit is going to be to replace?!”

America turned to face Romano, who was staring at him with wide-eyed confusion, accompanied by a trace of fear. “Oh. I didn’t see you there,” he said dully. “Sorry about the phone.”

Lovino huffed. “Quit apologizing, cretino.” He walked over to help pick up the shattered pieces of the telephone, and America stooped down to help him. “I’m guessing whatever that stronzo said must have really pissed you off.”

“It did. He, uh, called me that word. The word a lot of people have been calling your people lately. He didn’t believe that the name I used was my actual name because I gave a crap about what happened to Sicilians.”

“Dio, I really hate people sometimes,” Lovino muttered. He didn’t say anything else, but Alfred could tell from the look on his face that he would have destroyed the phone if he’d been in America’s place. He didn’t seem particularly angry with Alfred for breaking the phone, which couldn’t make calls to Europe anyway.

They collected the pieces of the telephone and went to throw them away. After they tossed them in the garbage, Lovino gave Alfred a smirk. “Your Italian was pretty decent. The accent sounded weird as hell, though.”

America laughed. “That’s my Boston accent. I tend to slip into it when I’m angry. Old habit from the Revolutionary War.”

Romano glanced ruefully into the trash can. “I guess you can’t call anyone else today.”

“Probably not. This would be a good time to get started on that letter to your brother.” Alfred had started the letter a few times yesterday, but tossed away his earlier attempts. He couldn’t find the proper words to express his regret. America had the feeling that no words would be good enough.

“Anything you need me to do?” Romano asked.

“If you know anyone who can fix the wall and install a new telephone, that would be a big help. But… uh, only if it’s safe.” He didn’t think his neighborhood in New York was as unsafe as New Orleans seemed to be, but he didn’t want to put Romano in any kind of danger.

Romano squeezed his shoulder. “Don’t worry, idiota. I’m more than capable of handling myself.”

Lovino went back to the kitchen to wash the dishes they had used at breakfast, and Alfred went to his study to compose a letter to Veneziano. Before he left to find people to repair the wall and the telephone, Lovino told Alfred where he was going. America tried not to worry about Romano being out on his own too much as he worked on the letter to Veneziano.

* * *

The man who repaired the wall in the living room was an Italian immigrant. He grinned at Alfred after Lovino told him the story of how the hole got put in the wall. He offered a discount on his services, but America politely declined the offer. The man who installed the telephone wasn’t an Italian immigrant, but he seemed amused by the story of how the phone got broken.

America was able to finish his letter to Veneziano that day as well. It wasn’t perfect, but it adequately expressed his regrets, his concern that his government would not properly respond to this tragedy, and his hope that Romano would be allowed to stay with him if that’s what he wanted. (America wasn’t even sure if Romano wanted to stay. He was honestly too afraid to ask.) He sent the letter out and expected that he would get a reply back fairly soon.

As the days passed, America remained focused on the lynching and on trying to get some kind of justice for the victims. America brought up the lynching when he spoke to his president on the phone, but President Harrison only offered a few words of acknowledgment before he changed the topic. When America was ready to travel to Washington D.C. and then New Orleans, he said goodbye to Romano at the door.

“Do you think you’ll be okay on your own for a few days?” he asked quietly.

Romano smiled thinly. “I’m capable of holding my own, idiota. Especially against humans.”

Alfred gave him a tight hug. “You shouldn’t have to worry about that.”

Romano said nothing to contradict that statement. He offered the standard Italian goodbye of two cheek kisses and stepped away. “Ci vediamo presto, Alfredo.”

Alfred lifted up his suitcase and grinned at his friend. “I’ll see you soon.”

His trips to Washington, D.C. and New Orleans were unsuccessful. His president was no more interested in hearing what he had to say than he had been over the phone, and Congress was even less interested. America was disheartened to learn that the governor of Louisiana had known about the lynching from the Italian consulate but hadn’t intervened because the mayor hadn’t asked him to. He simply didn’t seem to care about the fate of the lynched men.

America stayed in Louisiana an additional day to visit the families of the victims and provide the kind of comfort his government refused to. He also visited the jurors who hadn’t convicted the men charged with Hennessy’s murder for lack of evidence and told them that they had done the right thing. The ordinary humans he spoke to seemed shocked and confused when America explained who he was, but the Sicilians were less skeptical than the jurors. They knew instinctively that there must have been some reason for the young man with blond hair, blue eyes, and an Anglo-Saxon name to speak Sicilian just as well as they did. The victims’ families were welcoming to him, but their kindness made America’s heart feel heavy with remorse.

By the time America arrived back home, he was exhausted and his exhaustion was apparent in his shuffling gait and slumped shoulders. When Romano turned around to look at him, he sighed and set aside the rag he’d been using to clean a lamp.

“I take it the meetings didn’t go well?” 

America shook his head. “I keep trying, but I can’t make people care when they refuse to. That asshole governor knew what was happening at the time, and he just let those poor people get killed. It makes me sick to my stomach.”

Romano frowned, looking nauseous as well. “You’ve had a long trip. Sit down, and I’ll get you something to drink.”

America sat down obediently in the nearest armchair and glanced forlornly in the direction of the kitchen.

“You’re too nice to me, Vino. I don’t deserve you.” The Sicilian immigrants who had welcomed Alfred into their homes had been too nice to him too.

“You deserve a lot more than you think you do, bastard. Here, drink.”

America accepted the wine glass thrust towards him and sipped at the Marsala wine gratefully. He stared up at Lovino, who was standing in front of him and holding an envelope. “Your brother wrote back to me while I was gone?”

“Yeah. The letter showed up for you yesterday.” He handed over the letter and took a seat in a nearby chair. “I don’t know what he said.”

America ripped open the envelope and set aside the wine so he could read Veneziano’s letter.

_Dear America,_

_I gratefully accept your apology for the tragic events that occurred in New Orleans. I am saddened to hear that your government is unlikely to take responsibility or to prosecute those who committed violence against my fratello’s people, but I appreciate your candor. I hope that you are wrong about your government, and my leaders also hope that your government will eventually do the right thing. There is talk of removing our consul from New Orleans and recalling our ambassador from your capitol, but hopefully it won’t have to get to that point. All we want is for those in the lynch mob to be prosecuted and for reparations to be paid to the victims’ families._

_I will be traveling to America to visit my brother. I don’t blame you for the actions of your people, but I need to see that he is safe with my own eyes. If he wishes to stay with you, I won’t act against it, but I’m sure you understand why I would feel reluctant to continue this arrangement. Lovino is famiglia, and I only want what’s best for him. If he doesn’t feel safe staying in your country, I will offer him the chance to return back home so we can live together again._

_By the time you receive this letter, I will be on a ship to America. I will let you know when I arrive in America so that you will have the chance to prepare for my visit. I look forward to seeing you and Lovino._

_Ciao,_

_Italia Veneziano_

America gulped and folded the letter into thirds. “Your brother is coming to visit soon,” he said quietly.

He could feel Romano staring into his skull. “And?”

“He’s going to try to convince you to go back to Italy. He doesn’t think you’re safe with me.” America wasn’t sure if Romano was safe either. They spent the vast majority of their time together, but Alfred couldn’t be around to protect him 24/7. If he could, he would have been Lovino’s permanent bodyguard, but he was sure Lovino would resent Alfred hovering over him the way he truly wanted to.

Romano walked over to him. “Let me see the letter.” After snatching the letter away, he scanned it and shook his head. “Al, it doesn’t say that.”

“Except it pretty much does. And honestly? I don’t even know if he’s wrong. I had to leave you alone while I was going down to deal with things in New Orleans. Who knows what could have happened while I was gone?” Technically, he could’ve come along on the trip to Washington D.C., but Alfred couldn’t ask Lovino to come along to the city where eleven of his people were recently lynched.

“But nothing happened,” Romano pointed out. “You can’t spend the rest of your life being paranoid when I’m a fucking nation. I’m too strong for some puny humans to take down.”

He rubbed America’s tense shoulder and gave him a serious look. “I’m not going anywhere, Alfredo. I hate that this shit happened, but I don’t see that as a reason why I should leave _you_. You aren’t the worst of your people, and I feel safe and happy living here. I’ll talk to Vene and make him understand.”

“I’d miss you a lot if you left,” America admitted. “This place wouldn’t be the same without you.” It wasn’t just the help he provided around the house, but Romano’s friendship and the warm glow America felt in his presence. He didn’t want to go back to living in a big, empty house all by himself.

“You won’t have to worry about that,” Romano assured him as he sat back down. He sounded confident, but America wasn’t sure if he would change his mind once his brother came.

* * *

As promised, Veneziano contacted America when he arrived in the country. America was able to prepare for his visit the following day.

When he answered the door at the agreed upon time, Veneziano gave him a solemn nod. “Hello, America.”

“Hi, North Italy. Your brother’s waiting in the living room. I’ll be in the study so you guys can have some privacy.”

“Grazie.”

America led him into the living room, and Romano stood up from the couch to greet his brother. America slipped away before they could get past saying hi to each other. Lovino knew he understood Italian pretty well, so he wouldn’t be able to talk confidentially to his brother if America was in the same room.

Alfred tried to focus on paperwork he had been neglecting, but he found it difficult to concentrate. He couldn’t stop himself from wondering about what was happening in the living room. He wondered what Veneziano was saying and what Romano was saying in response, and he worried that the potential outcome of their discussion would be Lovino packing his bags and going back to Italy with his brother.

A knock sounded on the door, and Alfred put aside his fountain pen. “Door’s open.”

Veneziano entered and smiled sheepishly at America. “Well, it looks like Romano wants to stay.”

America couldn’t contain the large grin that stole across his face. “That’s what I was hoping for. How do you feel about it?”

He shrugged. “Surprisingly okay. I was concerned for him, even after I got your letter, but Lovino told me about some things you failed to mention. Things like you having to be dragged out of a mayor’s office by a security team and you breaking a phone because you got so angry on his behalf.” North Italy had a teasing glint in his eyes.

America laughed. “I messed up part of the wall too. That cost a lot of money to fix, actually. But I think it was worth it, ya know?”

Veneziano nodded. “Sì, I understand. I don’t like it when people speak badly about Romano either.” A sad, distant look appeared in his eyes, and America remembered what Romano had said about his brother’s people saying nasty things about him. It wasn’t fair. Romano and his people deserved so much better than this. America thought of the photos he had sent to be developed with his Kodak. At the end of his camera roll, there were a few photos with the victims’ family members who had consented to be photographed with the United States of America. He was planning to give most of the photos to Romano, but maybe he could send one or two to Veneziano as well.

Veneziano brightened suddenly, knocking America out of his contemplative mood. “Lovino also said that you understood Italian pretty well but spoke it with a funny accent.”

“I’d been speaking in my Boston accent for most of the conversation. I must have still been stuck on it by the time I was screaming at that asshole in Italian.”

Veneziano walked over to America and gave him a hug. “I like you, Alfredo. You’re a good person, and you’ve tried so hard to do right by my fratello.”

“I like you too, Feliciano. I could tell you were just trying to look out for Lovino’s welfare.”

Feliciano pulled away from the hug. “I suppose I should probably head back to Italy soon.”

“You don’t have to go back right away. I’ve got lots of guest rooms you can stay in.”

“That would be nice,” he agreed. “The voyage from Italy to America takes a long time. I could use a couple days of rest.”

“I’ll show you to one of the guest rooms. You like to take naps in the afternoon like Lovino does, right?” He stood up and led North Italy out of the room.

Feliciano followed him, and they chatted like old friends as America guided him to an empty guest room. Feliciano yawned as he set his suitcase next to the bed.

“Stay in here as long as you need to,” America said. “Lovi or I will wake you up in time for dinner.”

“Thank you, I appreciate that.” He blinked dazedly at the bed, and America left so that Veneziano could nap in peace.

Veneziano didn’t stay very long, but he stayed long enough for America to take both brothers to the Metropolitan Opera House before he returned to Italy. More importantly, Feliciano stayed long enough to understand why his big brother wanted to stay with America. The relationship between their countries was still uncertain by the time he boarded the ship back to Europe, but Feliciano had no reason to distrust Alfred even if Italy’s government had ample reason to distrust America’s. When America and Romano took him over to the harbor where the boat was docked, Veneziano hugged both of them goodbye, not just his big brother. Lovino leaned into his side as they watched the ship sail away, and Alfred took that as a sign that Lovino wasn’t planning on joining his brother on that voyage anytime soon.

Romano tugged at his arm when the ship was no longer in the harbor. “Come on, idiota, let’s go home.”

America grinned and eagerly started walking alongside his friend, back to _their_ home.

**Author's Note:**

> (Trigger warning for detailed discussion of violence and racism against Southern Italians in the sources): https://www.buzzfeed.com/adamserwer/how-an-1891-mass-lynching-tried-to-make-america-great-again  
> https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2019/10/12/opinion/columbus-day-italian-american-racism.html
> 
> The Wikipedia article on the March 14, 1891 lynching is also very detailed. There's a PDF link to the actual editorial Lovino and Alfred were reading, but massive trigger warning for stereotypes and racism in that source. The article on Italian Unification also briefly discusses Northern Italian prejudices against people in the southern part of the country.
> 
> On a lighter note, Alfred called the guy who used a slur a dickhead and told him to go fuck his dead family members, which the Internet tells me is the nuclear option of Italian insults.


End file.
